


you heard them say it

by piginawig



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piginawig/pseuds/piginawig
Summary: Even after she's 6 feet in the ground, Sonia Kaspbrak still lives in Eddie Kaspbrak's head.It takes some time, but he eventually finds something that drowns her out.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 166





	you heard them say it

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr prompt: "You make me want things I can't have," because we all need that one fic with a title from Take Me To Church.
> 
> Slight warning for mention of throwing up - not graphic at all but it's there! Also, discussion of AIDS and dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia related to the idea of being 'sick'.

Just because Sonia Kaspbrak was 6 feet under, didn’t mean her voice didn’t still live in Eddie Kaspbrak’s head. She had inserted herself there from the moment he’d stuck his foot in an x-ray machine at the shoe store, screaming _Eddie no! Those things give you Cancer!_ She’d stuck with him through childhood, reminding him of the dangers of swimming in the quarry, the injuries that could result from the playground. She pointed out which kids were dirty, which ones he was to keep away from.

It had been the first time he didn’t listen to her.

Once he had his friends, his losers, it had gotten easier to ignore the voice of his mother in his head.

And then she’d gone and died, heart failure, when he was 18 and seven months away from high school graduation.

If it weren’t for the support of his friends, the guest bedroom in Stan’s house becoming his home for the remainder of their schooling, he would’ve been left with nothing but the house he’d grown up in. Instead, he sold it, and used the money for college.

When his mother was still alive, the plan was for him to stay at home and commute to the closest community college. As it was, with her death came a rush to send in last-minute applications for the schools he liked (there were three, and each one was the top choice of at least one other loser), and when he received acceptance letters to two of the three he’d cried.

Stan had given him a hug and asked if he’d decided which he wanted to go to. Eddie knew Ben and Beverly would be at one, and Bill and Richie at the other. Stan and Mike would be attending the school he hadn’t gotten into.

In the end, he’d pretended to think it over for the night, but from the moment he opened his letter he knew he was going to school with Richie and Bill.

Richie and Bill had been there from the beginning. They knew how he’d grown up, and they’d been there to help him turn the volume down on his mom’s voice when he second-guessed a day in the barrens or a bike ride when it was cold out. Bill had been there for him when he’d gotten the flu and had been terrified to tell his mother, knowing she’d take him to the hospital and he’d have to deal with tests and needles and swabs and her shrill voice screaming at the doctors through crocodile tears when all he really wanted to do was lay in bed.

And when he was taken to the emergency room for his mother’s favorite ailment, _phantom fever_ , Richie was waiting for him when he got back home with board games and endless chatter to cheer him up, make him forget about the band-aids on the inside of his elbows from multiple blood draws.

And when she’d died, Richie and Bill had sat on either side of him in his childhood bedroom, each holding one of his hands, as he cried. They didn’t tell him that his mother didn’t love him right, the way they usually did. They just let him cry until there were no more tears left.

No one was surprised when Eddie decided to go to college with Bill and Richie. Everyone _was_ surprised, however, when Eddie chose Bill as his roommate.

In the back of his mind, his mother whispered about _boys who look at other boys, boys who get sick from it, you’ve seen it on the news, Eddie Bear, you know why they’re sick_.

He didn’t want to risk it. It was hard enough not to look at Richie all the time; he wouldn’t be able to handle living with him. He didn’t want to get sick. ( _Real_ sick, not the kind of phantom sickness his mother had made up – _but_ , her voice whispers, even quieter, _doesn’t just_ having _those thoughts make you sick enough?_ )

Richie had been mock-offended when Eddie chose to room with Bill, but it didn’t seem to really bother him, and Eddie figured if anyone asked, he could just say Richie was too chaotic to live with. It wasn’t even that much of a lie for most people, though Eddie had learned that somehow he thrived in the midst of Richie’s chaos.

It didn’t stop Eddie from visiting Richie’s dorm on a regular basis either, doing homework or playing video games or just hanging out. But he always left if it got to be too much. If he ever felt himself looking for too long or wanting too much. Richie never noticed.

And halfway through the semester, when Richie’s random roommate dropped out and he suddenly had the room all to himself, Eddie found himself leaving more and more often, overwhelmed with the idea that they were alone together, with no parents downstairs or rules to abide by.

But it was also a bit of a safe haven, which he tried not to examine too much because shouldn’t his _own_ room, shared with his other best friend, be just as safe?

Whenever he was stressed, he found himself in Richie’s room, throwing a small plastic ball into the hoop attached to his door. When he needed to cram for a test, he ended up curled up in Richie’s giant desk chair, frantically going over notes.

And when his discussion-based government class spent the day discussing the AIDS crisis, he found himself in Richie’s room, hands shaking and blinking back tears. His stomach hurt, and he barely made it to Richie’s bathroom before he was puking.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Eddie gave a thumbs up over his shoulder as he wiped his mouth with toilet paper.

“Do you have mouthwash?”

Richie reached under the sink and handed him an unopened bottle.

“Have you _never_ used your mouthwash?” He asked, horrified. “Your dad’s a dentist!”

Richie shrugged. “Rebellion, I suppose. Here, rinse your mouth out with that and then drink some water; I've got some in the mini-fridge.”

Once Eddie's mouth felt clean, they ended up on Richie’s bed, backs against the wall and feet out in front of them.

“You’re not gonna get all your stomach virus germs on my bed, are you?” Richie asked, after they’d been there for at least half an hour.

“Not a virus. And if it was, it’d be too late now,” he answered. His hands had finally stopped shaking.

“Food poisoning?”

“No.”

“Okay, you’re gonna have to give me more to go on, because it’s not every day someone bursts into my room and goes straight to the toilet to puke.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, trying to let himself get lost in the conversation, let Richie’s tone of voice and lighthearted words take him away from that classroom, take him away from his mom’s voice ringing in his head about _sick boys_.

“I just got upset about something right after I ate and, well, you saw the results.”

“What were you upset about?”

Eddie looked at Richie. His eyes were curious behind his glasses, his hair curling messily over his forehead. He’d already been to all of his classes for the day, choosing to get them done in the morning, so he just wore sweatpants and a tee. Eddie wanted to fall into his arms. Eddie wanted to run away.

“Just… Stupid class discussion. You know how people… like, they talk about things… they argue about stuff but it doesn’t actually mean anything to them, you know?”

Richie’s forehead creased. “I’m not following, sorry, Spaghetti.”

Eddie huffed. “Don’t call me that. I just mean like, you know, they argue about things as though they’re abstract, instead of thinking about the fact that it might actually affect someone in the room.”

Richie turned his head to look straight ahead, and Eddie looked down at the bedspread beneath them.

“You just got out of your government class, right?” Richie asked.

Eddie’s heart raced. He didn’t realize Richie knew his schedule. “Yeah.”

“So it was like, a political argument?”

Eddie sighed, finding a loose thread on the comforter and pulling at it. Richie gently slapped his hand away.

“C’mon, Eds,” he said. “You clearly want to talk about it. What if I promise not to make any jokes about it?”

Eddie scoffed. “Then I’ll ask who you are and where the hell is the real Richie Tozier.”

Richie snorted and then nodded. “I mean, fair. But seriously, dude, just tell me.”

“Remember last year, like, right before Ma died? I came over and I was really upset and like, angry. And we went outside and you let me throw some stupid coffee mug with a dumb slogan on it against the bricks of your house?”

Eddie chewed on his lip nervously.

“Yeah, I remember,” Richie said.

“That night there was this thing on the news. And my mom… She told me that she never wanted me to get sick, that she wanted me to… I don’t know. Just – Not be like that. Because she didn’t want me to get sick and die like everyone else. She was always _just trying to protect me_ , but sometimes it was up to me to protect myself. And then it was like she was changing the subject, but not _really_ , and she said I needed to stay away from you –“

“From me?” Richie asked, voice rising.

“Yeah. She never liked you, you knew that, but as we got older she… She just started thinking things. About... Me, and about you. And about me and you. And she never directly said it, she never put it together, that like, _protecting myself from getting sick_ meant staying away from you but… But that’s what she meant.”

Eddie snuck a glance at Richie in time to see him swallow and breathe out through his nose. He closed his own eyes.

“And then today during class discussion, we were talking about it and it was like… They weren’t talking about real people, you know? It wasn’t something that was happening to real people, it was just this… This idea, almost. I didn’t – I didn’t say anything because what can you even say? Even… Even the ones that weren’t – that weren’t awful, they didn’t talk about it like it was real. They said things like _hey, maybe gay people don’t deserve to die_ , but it felt like they were talking about – about gay people like they’re some distant species and not… Not that – Not –“

His chest was tightening and he felt tears leak out of his eyes as he struggled to breathe. He felt Richie’s arms around his shoulders and leaned into the touch, a sob escaping his lips.

“You’re not sick,” Richie murmured into his hair, one hand rubbing up and down his spine. “Okay? You’re not. You’re _perfect_.”

Eddie clutched his fists in the material of Richie’s shirt, taking gasping breaths and trying to ground himself.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he whispered, once his breathing was under control.

“For what? Crying on me?”

Eddie shook his head, his face still buried in Richie’s shoulder. “For being… _like this_.”

“Eds, baby.” Richie’s voice was soft, and Eddie’s breath hitched at the pet name. “I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

Eddie pushed himself up so he could see Richie’s face. “ _What?_ ”

“I mean… There’s a reason your mom wanted you to stay away from _me_ , specifically. I’ve never been particularly subtle, Eds.”

“You knew about… me, the whole time? And you’re…”

“In love with you?”

Eddie choked on his next breath. Richie reached up and brushed the stray tears from his face.

“I don’t – I can’t be – I don’t want to be sick, Rich, I _can’t_ –“

“You’re not,” Richie said confidently. “And I’m not. Your mom and the kids in your class can fuck off, okay?”

“You know I didn’t – I didn’t room with you because I was scared. Just being around you all the time… It’s like… You make me want things I can’t have, and it scares me.”

“Eds, you can have whatever you want,” he promised quietly. He leaned forward until their foreheads met.

Eddie sniffled. “I want to kiss you,” he admitted. “But I – I just hear her voice in my head, saying that it’s sick and that I’m gonna die and I don’t know how to make her stop.”

“I don’t either,” Richie said honestly. “But I’ve waited for you, for years, so… I don’t mind waiting a little longer.”

“What if I never –“

“Hey,” Richie stopped him. “You deserve to be happy, okay? I know it’s – it’s fucking terrifying, right? Seeing everything that’s going on… But… We can do research, yeah? Learn about it, apart from what the news says. We don’t have to be... you know, _physical_. Things don’t even have to change between us. Just – I just want you to know that I love you. And that whenever you’re ready we can… We can do whatever you want.”

Eddie breathed in deeply, trying not to cry again.

“Research sounds like a good idea,” he said after a few moments of silence. “And maybe…”

He put a hand on Richie’s cheek, fingers bumping into the arm of his glasses. With his heart in his throat he leaned in quickly, pressing a soft kiss to his other cheek. When he pulled back, he could see a flush on Richie’s face and a dopey smile on his lips.

It took a moment, but finally Richie recovered enough to say, “Well look, you didn’t die!”

Eddie snorted and shoved at his chest, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the worst, you’re not funny,” he told him, trying to fight a smile.

“See, you say that, but it looks like you’re about to laugh.”

“I’ve never laughed at any of your jokes because they’re all bad,” Eddie said, grinning.

“You think I’m fucking hilarious,” Richie argued, eyes bright. “And would it be okay if I said that I think you’re really fucking cute?”

Eddie ducked his head, blushing. “Um, yeah. That’s okay.”

“Then I think you’re _really_ fucking cute.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip, his face hot. His stomach swooped as he replayed Richie’s words in his head, louder and louder until they drowned out his mom.

“Hey, um, it would also be okay if you kissed me,” he said quietly. “Just... Really quick.”

“Yeah?” Richie asked, and Eddie made an affirmative noise. He was surprised at the whimper that escaped his throat when Richie’s hand cupped his cheek, softly lifting his face until they were eye to eye. He felt electricity under his skin, a kind of nervous excitement, as Richie came closer, as he closed his eyes, as their lips brushed. It was a short kiss, barely there, and it lit him on fire. ”Good?” Richie checked.

“Mhm,” he agreed, nodding and feeling their noses brush together, feeling Richie’s glasses bump into his own face. “You can – Again.”

As their lips touched, his mind was overcome with thoughts of Richie, how good it felt to be held by him, to be kissed by him. It was overwhelming in the best way, and it left no room in his head for anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the time my undergrad government class had a discussion about marriage rights in 2014 as though there couldn't possibly be a gay person in the room.


End file.
